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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22538416">The Chair</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiantEyedCrow/pseuds/GiantEyedCrow'>GiantEyedCrow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whump, probably fluff at some point</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:42:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,480</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22538416</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiantEyedCrow/pseuds/GiantEyedCrow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can ask questions. It’s better for you to know now anyway.”</p><p>“What… what does it feel like?”</p><p>I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of sweat. The feeling of electricity surging through my skin, the sense that my consciousness was weaving in and out of darkness. The feeling of my entire body fighting against the restraints, muscles screaming for me to get up, to run, to get away. I remembered that panicked calm I felt when I came out of it, unable to talk, unable to remember what I had done a few hours ago, why there was dried blood in the grooves of my arm.</p><p>“Pain.” Such a general statement. But it was the only thing I could dream up. “You’re already afraid, or grieving, or busy hating yourself. You might be angry, even. And they sit you down and tie you up and they pick apart your brain with everyone watching. They take things from you and hide them in places you will never find them. With everyone watching. Laughing.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve is rescued from hydra, but not quickly enough to stop them from trying to fry his brain the same way they did Bucky’s. Wanda, Bucky, and the rest of the Avengers make sure he’s gonna be okay.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange, Wanda Maximoff &amp; James “Bucky” Barnes, Wanda Maximoff &amp; Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Chair</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey, I whipped this thing part up in a day or two and am hoping to all things holy that I actually stay consistent with the posting but anyway—</p><p>TW:<br/>- Allusion to imprisonment/torture [minimal, similar to Bucky’s]<br/>- The electric shock machine chair thing because I know it freaks some people out<br/>- Retching/allusion to vomiting</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Wanda, I’m gonna ask a question.” She wiped tears out of her eyes and pretended she wasn’t crying, staring through the rectangular window into Steve’s room of the medical wing. </p><p>“Shoot.” Her hands shook and her voice wavered a little, but she put on a brave face and shoved her hands in her pockets. The kid was freakishly strong in so many wrong ways, and I wish she’d stop being so considerate and put down my damage for one second so she could stop more of hers from festering but… the selflessness could’ve been one of her scars too. </p><p>“It’s a bad one, and you don’t have to answer it. But if you do, tell me the truth. Okay?” I bit down on the inside of my cheek and grabbed at the air.</p><p>“Uh huh.”</p><p>I pulled my fingers through the tangles of my hair and sighed. “Did they ever put you in The Chair?” I cringed at the memories, the pain of the voltage. I tried my best to block it out, but I felt it in the way I gritted my teeth and the surge of pain that flooded my head as I remembered. </p><p>It took a lot to remember a thing that was meant to steal memories.</p><p>“Would I know?” She couldn’t help but be curious.</p><p>I nearly breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes. You would.”</p><p>I passed my gaze onto her, and even if we weren’t looking at one another before, she suddenly seemed like she was avoiding eye contact with me.</p><p>“You can ask questions. It’s better for you to know now anyway.”</p><p>“What… what does it feel like?”</p><p>I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of sweat. The feeling of electricity surging through my skin, the sense that my consciousness was weaving in and out of darkness. The feeling of my entire body fighting against the restraints, muscles screaming for me to get up, to run, to get away. I remembered that panicked calm I felt when I came out of it, unable to talk, unable to remember what I had done a few hours ago, why there was dried blood in the grooves of my arm.</p><p>“Pain.” Such a general statement. But it was the only thing I could dream up. “You’re already afraid, or grieving, or busy hating yourself. You might be angry, even. And they sit you down and tie you up and they pick apart your brain with everyone watching. They take things from you and hide them in places you will never find them. With everyone watching. Laughing.”</p><p>Wanda was crying again, rubbing the skin beneath her eyes raw as he wiped away her tears with her palms. Trying to tough it out. But this wasn’t some sprained ankle. It wasn’t a headache, it wasn’t a concussion. You didn’t tough it out, you either came to terms with it or let it fester. Let it kill you. </p><p>“C’mere, kid.” Wanda collapsed into my arms, shaking, and tears pooled in my eyes too. She held onto me so tight that I thought she might hurt one of my cracked ribs, but I honestly would have let her. My ribs would be fine in a day for two, Wanda was hurting in a different way. </p><p>“Is Steve going to be okay?” She asked, gulping for air. </p><p>“I am, aren’t I? And Steve’s a helluva lot stronger than me, he’s gonna be okay.”</p><p>“Is he going to be the same?” </p><p>I didn’t know what to tell her. I spent 70 years, in and out of a cryo-tank, murdering innocent people, having my brain fried over and over again and being beaten half to death. I was different now, and there was nothing I could do about that other than try my best.</p><p>Steve was a tough kid, and they’d shoved his brain in the blender once. That’s the report we got from the POWs, and Steve was even more gutsy than me; hell, if Steve fell and I didn’t, Hydra probably would’ve had to kill him, he was so damn wild. </p><p>But the feeling of electricity ripping through your head and the feeling of your stomach dropping when you realized you couldn’t muster any words to speak for the first few hours. The feeling of screaming your throat raw and being thrown in a cold cell shaking and crying like a scared animal for the first time was traumatic. It hurt. It replayed in your head over and over again.</p><p>“I don’t know. But, Wanda— you’ve gotta promise me something.”</p><p>She pulled away from me and nodded.</p><p>“Do not ever let Hydra touch you again. Keep yourself safe from them. Don’t—“ my voice broke and I gritted my teeth, gently squeezing her shoulder. “If I find out that Hydra done this to another person, I will kill all of them. I will kill all of them, and I’m no good for murder anymore. Just,” I took a deep breath. “Be careful.”</p><p>“Why don’t we kill them now? Haven’t they done enough?” Her eyes glowed red and she clenched her fists. </p><p>“Cut off one head, another grows in its place. Hercules killed the original by standing in its chest. We are not gods.”</p><p>A silence passed between us. To destroy Hydra seemed impossible, but with enough rage and hatred, it was doable. The only problem was, it killed you too. It meant being martyred with a chance of failure.</p><p>“I can’t say Steve’s gonna be the same,” I started. “But he’s still ours. And he’s gonna stay that way.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce finally let Steve out of the medical wing about a week and a half post incident. Bruce wasn’t a psychologist and Sam couldn’t be subjective, so we’d have to call one in. But Steve was cleared for head trauma. Even if his balance wasn’t perfect, the medical wing freaked him out. It was for the best that he’d come back and live on our floor.</p><p>That didn’t mean he was perfectly fine.</p><p>I couldn’t help that I was a light sleeper. I could pretend to sleep, but it was 2:50 a.m, and the motion of Steve rolling out of the right side of the bed was enough to make my eyes flick open and start adjusting to the darkness. Now didn’t seem like the best time to play pretend.</p><p>I waited behind him, still laying beneath the heap of our blankets, straining my ears to hear the sound of his bare feet dragging lazily across the ground, towards the bathroom.</p><p>The sound of him dropping to his knees on the bathroom tile scared the shit out of me, and it was suddenly followed by the sound of him retching into the toilet even though he didn’t eat dinner. This was the third time this week, and it was only Wednesday, but all the same I got up as quick as I could, throwing my legs over my side of the bed and walking as loudly as I could to warn Steve, following him into the bathroom.</p><p>His head was in the toilet bowl as he retched, his stomach straining, and for the third time this week, I sat down on the cool tile next to him and placed my hand on his back, waiting for the episode to pass. </p><p>He was self-soothing. That’s what they all did, found irrational ways to make their bodies tired enough so they could get some type of rest. Mine was headbanging. Some were more gentle than that.</p><p>But Steve couldn’t keep any food down because of it. He tried his best to eat and even didn’t put up a fight when we tried to tube feed him, but all the same, at the end of the day, he found himself in the same spot, throwing up nothing on the bathroom floor.</p><p>“Just like old times, huh?” </p><p>I froze. That was the first time he’d said more than three words in 10 hours. He said five words, and I turned them over in my head like a shiny rock; five words sharing some of his nuance with me. Five words that let me know what he was thinking. He said them slowly to assure he didn’t stutter through them, and I was still stunned that he said something. Five words.</p><p>I tried not to let him know that he’d caught me surprised and laughed. “I’m starting to think we’re just taking turns at this point.”</p><p>Steve leaned up against my chest, and I took note of how much lighter he felt. “Y’ get over this fast. Don't you?”</p><p>Two more. “If we’re not locked in a cage, people like us do. Yeah; give it about two more weeks.”</p><p>He grinned. “Sucks to be you.”</p><p>“You’re such a damn punk.”</p><p>“Jerk.”</p><p>I breathed a sigh of relief. It took a lot to break this man.</p>
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